There's nothing left.
But that low dull buzz.
Of snow.
On a static screen.
And my mind.
Trying to find a reason.

My depth is shallow.
My mind, fractured.

And, all these coudla beens.
Hit me too early.
In this afternoon wakefulness.

There's a pit in my gut.
But it dies once the speed kicks in.
I don't feel like eating anything other.
Than cirgarettes ash.

The general sense of being.
Unwell.
Is constant

I remember thinking.
How strange it was.
That I felt peace.

Imagining.

Vomitting.

In their plates.

I'm always on the verge of another.
Breakdown.
Feeling my soul extricate itself.
From the premises.

Absent mindedly.
I stare into the darkness.
The permutations of my hallucinations.
Swirl in the darkness.
Lights in the dark.

Or is it
the blood coursing through my eyes.
Fluctuating in spasmodic undulations.
Something moving in a shadow.
A face my brain places into the dark.
Patterns associated with mind states.
Anger, depression, empitness.

It's all just such.
A trick of the mind.
Counterfeit spirits.

And I am  
Feeling the buildup of repressed.
Emotions.
But I gird my *****.
Tolerate the bottleneck.
Stave off the breaking of the dam.
By receding into apathy.

I must stabilise my circumstance.

Til the dam breaks.
And my life is ruined.
In yet another catastrophic incident.
To add to the list.
Of reasons why.

I'm broken.

I woke up in right now.
When I was really back there.
Apprehensive and afraid.

Nervous that nothing would pan out.

Never did.
Never was gonna be anything magnificent.
Not even mediocre.
Just a failed.
Life.

The idioms of my persona fluctuate with time.
Some new intuition that speaks to your soul.
Which to me, is just,
An aesthetic.
An overall style.

It's always so late when I decide to wake up.
All you catch is my exit.

I'm amazed at how long.
I've managed to keep myself alive.
Without trying too.
Hard to keep living.
Mr Self Destruct.
Mr. Give Me Anything as Long as I'm baked.
Some life I sought, really.

In fact.
I tried not to live.
I sought death.
It seems like something or someone.
Is preventing me from dying.

And, I feel comforted in the comfortable annihilation.
I only feel in a deep sleep.
Or a concussive forcing me to wake up.
With rage and hate.
As my brain rockets off my skull

All this natural starvation.
This borderline anorexia.

And.

All these late nights.
With too much drugs.
Planning for nothing.
Building up a tolerance for all these overdoses.
Cause, tomorrow was always so far away.

And,
right now,
I feel like ****.
So, I recede into the nothingness.
Disconnect from reality.
Tune in,
drop out,
and get ******.

And, while you all sought to make it this far.
I tried collapsing before the race was over.
I stumbled on the blocks and got lost in the run.
My legs failing.
My heart racing.
An over compensated fear that I.
Might.
Find myself still going.
When my legs dont work.
When my head is throbbing with blood.
With no motivation.

Just the cold hard defeat.
That.

I made it,
As the shock sets in and I think.
I wasn't prepared for this.
What do I do now?

Confusion.
Listlessness.

Death.
My friend.
Let us make amends.
Bury the hatchet.

For I smell war in the air.
I hear the cacophony of artillery.
Rumbling in the distance.

And, if you'll let me death.
I shall **** as many of the invader.
As you will let me.

Let me die in vain.
Unknown and unloved.
So my ancestors won't weep.

For my cowardice.
I shall bravely march off to my anihilation.
And I hope I go to Hell.
Ontop of a pile of corpses.
Of these savages.

And what is this life.
But the falling of sand.
Through fingers.

Please death.
May I take the enemy with me.
If he comes.

Let me send you lovers.
Into the afterlife.
Til you come yourself.

To get.
Me.

I see myself.
Sitting there.
Wondering how to respond.
To the way that you're smiling.

So.
I awkwardly bare my teeth.
Trying no to stare in your eyes.
With my cold.
Dead.

Confused.
Eyes.

Trying to fake an emotion.
Anything.
Human.

I journal all this.
Internet graffiti I spew.
In public.
For your conisderation.
Lest someone call me a coward.

Inauthentic.
Weak.
Pathetic.

But I'm not that.
I'm a pent up pipe bomb.
A shockwave.
I don't ever get better.
I get much much worse.

And these idyll iterations of words.
Imply.
I often write things I don't agree with.
Just.
Cause.
They say I can't.

But, I dunno that word.
Can't.
It's not a command.
It's a weak suggestion that I'm not inclined.
To consent to.

And I dress myself up so dramatically.
I add flair to the self destruction.
Of someone too smart for their own good.
A rebel without a cause.
Beaten down and **** on.
But, I get up if not only to spite.
The little **** who knocked me out.

I am divine in my filth.
I am a mendicant.
A Bhikku of Yama.
Lord of Death.

And, oh.
You say I can't say what I want?
Well, I never asked your opinion.
Please,
arrest me for all of these hate crimes.
These taboo pantomimes of a free speech activist.
Just make sure you find intent.

Life isn't worth living when all this 'art'.
Is the same fictional balderdash they've been.
Spewing for decades.
Nothing reflective of the human condition.
Nothing novel.
Just the same rehashed formula and historic art movements.
That died decades ago.

So in this collaborative fiction.
I write my mythology in my own personal.
Mystery cult.
Residing with God.
Compelled to castigate.
Rewarded for being anti social.
And, principled.

And, no.
You can't come along.
You weren't invited into my church.
I am the only congregant.
The only priest.
The only crusader.
Out here trying to burn down reality.

Endogenous
In group of one.

I was born a violent man.
Even though I'm not good at it.
All of my vindictiveness.
All of my resentment.
All of my things which percolate and bubble up from my rotten core.
Consume me.

In the euphoria of rage.
I've bled buckets in the aftermath.
Broken ribs from kicks on the ground.
Broken fists on someone's face.

I might not be the flame that consumes your car.
But, I poured the gasoline.

I am divine.
I am holy.
In my furious furor.
I want to explode.
As my bones tear through flesh.
Amputate lest it gets infected.

A tribute to Cybele.
I want towers shot with RPGs.
Clothing racks on fire.
Trumpeting your broken body.
With concussive force.

Headless corpses lining the streets.
Awash in a thick puddle of fetid blood.
Coagulating in my compassion.
Lumps of human blood sausage.
Rotting in the sun.
The smell of iron and taste.
Of adrenaline

Life is never short enough.
And, I swear to cause as much damage.
As I can.

Hack the hands off the wicked.
For every thief that stole a part of me.
Never to give it back.
I want my.
Vengeance

I will become Abaddon.
The angle of destruction.
A stray bullet.

And I want anihilation..
I want it to all fall apart into rubble.
Reigning over my empire of broken dreams.
And broken bodies.

I will conquer the refuse left over.
With persistence.

And vile.

Putrid hate.

I drove across Canada.
At eighteen.
With an artist friend.
To run away from home.
For ***** and giggles.
Driving for days.
And, going mad.
Stuck up in the shrub
The vista of the same tree.
Motorsports on freeways.
The car become an appendage.

I scream.
And no one hears me.
So I cut the perormative ****.
Hurl about my verbal diahrrea.
***** it to the lights on the screen.
Safe in the liminal state.
Of I'm not really here.
I'm just wasting time

I slept through.
My reason to live.
Somehow ended up in.
Here.

Apparently I'm resilient.
Resistant to the drug induced coma.
I find myself in every night.
Vivid dreams I don't want to leave.

Did I see you in there?
In my kaleidoscope nightmare.
These ashen memories are indistinguishable.
From my dreams.

I may have known you.
In real life.
But I can't tell.
Cause the passing chaotic visions.

Rouse me from my.
Slumber.

Every day.
I feel like sleeping.

Rather.
Be unconscious than this.
Self conscious.
Subconsciously neurotic.
Paranoid ideation.

I live.

Not to mention.
The delusions.

Better to fantasize.
Than bother with the day.
To days.

Of getting up.
Getting high.
Lost in a radicalized.
Weaponized.
Grave yard of ideas.

Ranting to no one so
publicly.
It would be embarassing.

If I didn't know how to.

Disappear.

Some kinda.
Dismissive avoidant style.

Beating that internal bad object.
To a well earned death.

And, at least.
I still dream.

Somehow he knew me from before.
In the psycheward.
And, he was nice.
But, suicidal.
Screaming into the phone.
That he didn't know where the cows were.
He looked.

Farmer specific suicide prevention.
Exists.

She sings syllogisms.
That no one knows.
But her, the wind, and my imagination
In an internal idyllic idealism.
A succinct thought
Where she's beautiful.
Happy.

Frozen in a good memory.

A lovely smile.

And.
Here I am.
Reading metaphors and analogies
Written on her soul.
Projected through reality
From her sweet lips.

I'm never up in the morning.
Unless I'm about to go to bed.
And, I prefer it at night.
My life.
In the calm.
Barren.
Streets.
I lay my claim to all the quiet places.
Where I can go alone.
To be by myself.

I try to tell myself she didn't.
Love me.
But.
She did.
I just ****** it up.
Like I always do.

But,
She still hurts.
To think about.

The way she smiled.
Liked to see me happy.
Enjoyed.
My company.

I can't stop.
Dreaming about her.

I don't want to.
She was my worst mistake.

I'm trapped in that constant motion.
Held over from homelessness.
Thinking I always need to leave.
Wherever I am.
Chain smoking past available.
Into bad habits.
And not wanted.
Just a random.
Piece of trash.
That salvages itself.

As soon as I saw her.
I knew.
I couldn't look away.
And, that.
I should leave.

But, I went to her.
When she called.

I had too.

I'm obsessively repeating it in my head.
The regret.
The shame.
The urge to die.

When I think of all the things.
I just.
Didn't do.

Wasting my life for nothing.
Conversations reduce.
To a few grunts.

I holistically.
Preclude your.
Mindfulness.

For the upaya.

Of a burnt.
Old.
Cigarette.

I'm.
Just.
Waiting.

To die.

And everyone.
Wants me.

To.
Live.

I rather.
Like.

Innocuously.
Day.
dreaming.

Everything.
Seems so.
Pointless.

As though.
Nothing.
Improved.

Years spent.
Refining.
My writing.

For what?
Comments.

Live chats.

Everything.
Transitionary.
Liminal.

Passions.
Are what.
You can't stop.
Doing.

Even if you think it's futile.

Sing.
Me.
A melody.

And make it.
Out of tune.

Off.

Key.

Everyday.

I struggle.
To find.
Basic.

Motivations.

To live.

Other.
Than.

Drugs.

I can't.
Co ordinate the.
Chaos anymore.

And, I feel like screaming.

I'm real.

Until my vocal chords break.
Bleeding out some cry.
To the heavens.

Existence is the torture.
Of banal nothing.
Coalescing into an.
Instant regret.
From an impulsive.
Rush.

But I've learned.
Each dramatic outburst.
Was a call for help.
A communication.
So I learned how to act.
Normal.
Keep it to.
Myself.

When.
In my mind.

Well,
I can't keep track now,
Can I.

I had.
Things.
To say.

But

I've.
Lost my mind.

We went.
Somewhere.

Vague.

According to.
The.

Directions.

Death.

Is just a.
Dissolution.

Into.
The.

Memory.
Of.

A.

Self.

This.

Is a.
Letting
Go.

Of something.
I.
Never.
Had

Life.
Is just.
Waiting to.
Die.

While my.
Internal monologue.
Gently.
Weeps.

I.
Get.
The  feeling.

Everything.
Was pointless.
Anyway.

You and.
I.
Were.
Temporary.

Fantasies.

Every.
Waking.
Moment.

I long.
For the still.
Sound.

Of.
Silence.

Love was.
Something.
I used to.

Long.
For.

Now.
It's just.
A sentimental.
Performative.

Poorly done.
Art.
Piece.

I'd like to say it hurts.
This waste.
That I am.

This feeble disappointment.
When I coulda been.
Something better.
Than absent.
Apathetic.

Regretting.
The overdoses.
Never crossed that cusp.
Into darkness.
Into unfathomable.
Depressions.
Struggling to breathe.
Suffocated on sedated solutions

Gone.
Too far to come back.
Past rapid eye movement.
Into a dilapidated.
Sunken flesh.
Make up on a corpse.

I'd like to hope.
I'll be.
There.
In Elysium's dream.
Of something more.
Than decomposing.
Brown oxidized blood stains.
******* myself.
Pale, dead.
Eyes.

Blunted ambitions.
Neurotic.
Dysfunction.

In these dying nights of summer.
Where the chill rises up on these kaleidoscope sunsets.
I can feel the sun bleeding into the horizon.
Tortured.
Haemorrhaging all over the sky.

I try to reflect on something.
Better than just being in the.
Moment.

But, alas.
I'm at a loss for words.

And,

I'm not very eloquent anymore.

Light breaks softly.
Through the cracks.
I was told was in everything.
But I run from it.

Because it ruins the dark.

I will be an addendum.
In the book of life.
A simple caveat.
That the light couldn't reach.

My own personal.
Perpetual.
Darkness.

And you.
Illuminating my disgust.